


Witness

by abluevixen (knightofbows)



Series: | January 2016 Prompt Challenge | [23]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, CEO!Derek, Canon-Typical Violence, FBIagent!Stiles, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:02:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6222883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightofbows/pseuds/abluevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of his Pack, Derek only trusts Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Witness

**Author's Note:**

> Brief mention of a Derek/Kate relationship. It is literally a single phrase between a pair of em-dashes. But some folks aren't about that, so here's the author's warning in case tags were missed.

Derek’s eyes darted under fluttering lids, brows and jaw drawing tight. A strangled sound wrenched from his throat, and with a shuttering gasp, he jolted awake.

Stiles raised an eyebrow, frowning from his seat near the hotel desk where he read by a small, soft light. He dog-eared his page, then got up and fetched a glass of water. He ground his teeth, unable to ignore Derek’s stuttered breath or his struggle to choke down sobs. After unwrapping the plastic, he filled the glass three quarters from the bathroom tap, then carried it over to the bed.

Derek leaned on an elbow, his wide, iridescent eyes staring at nothing. A line of sweat dampened his hairline, and his jaw was a bit slack as he just tried to breathe.

“Mr. Hale?” Stiles chanced, rounding the bed to kneel at Derek’s side. When several heartbeats of silence passed, Stiles said, “Derek?”

“Stiles…?”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed. “Yeah, I’m here.” He eased the water cup into Derek’s hand. “Drink. Breathe.”

Derek nodded, still a little numb, and did as Stiles instructed. He sipped the water and shifted to sit cross-legged on the mattress, wrapping his free hand in the sheets pooling in his lap. It took several minutes for Derek to come back to himself, but when he did, he set the empty cup on the nightstand and leaned back heavily against the headboard. He rolled his head to meet Stiles’ gaze, and smirked weakly. “Sorry,” he said.

Waving him off, Stiles said, “Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”

“This isn’t part of your job.”

“Getting you water isn’t a big deal, dude,” Stiles dismissed. “Calm down.”

“Stiles…” Derek sighed.

“Derek,” Stiles teased. He leaned forward and carded his fingers through Derek’s sweat-damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “Another nightmare?” he asked.

He knew it was—he’d seen Derek have several since the bombing that destroyed Hale Industries’ corporate headquarters and most of Derek’s family with it—but he hoped to prompt Derek into talking. Stiles wasn’t a psychologist by any means, but he remembered losing his mom, and talking had helped.

“Yeah,” Derek rasped.

“Fire?”

“Yeah.”

“Falling?”

“…yeah.”

Stiles hummed his acknowledgement, then straightened.

The police and government reports ruled the bombing a terrorist attack. Domestic, but still terrorist—some extreme anti-werewolf group claimed responsibility for it. And the Hales, as one of the oldest and most influential wolf packs—a pack that was modern royalty—were a prime target. Despite previously thwarted attempts and exorbitant levels of security, something had gone wrong. Somehow, explosives were planted. And Derek, though he’d spotted and scented and reported the suspicious perpetrator, ultimately having her removed, hours later, the bombs still exploded.

Of the nuclear Hale pack, Derek was the only survivor.

Despite his werewolf healing, Derek still bore wounds from the ordeal months later.

While awaiting the trial of the bomber—a woman named Kate Argent with whom Derek had had a brief affair—Derek accepted witness protection on the condition it was someone he knew, someone his wolf trusted. He requested Stiles, an FBI field agent, specifically. But the government denied the request—despite the tragedy Derek had faced and his contributions to the community, the investigation would not concede to his personal judgement. It was all hush-hush.

So, Stiles just took a leave of absence to work under Derek’s employ.

Thankfully, the investigation hadn’t turned up evidence of Stiles’ own relationship with Derek, one that spanned their lives and found them tumbling into bed together several times over the years. Either they hadn’t found evidence of it, or Stiles had enough friends in the agency to keep it under wraps.

“Do you want to try to go back to sleep?” Stiles asked.

“Don’t know if I can,” Derek sighed. “I just…” His breath stuttered when he tried to breathe deep, and Stiles didn’t move away as he originally intended. Instead, Stiles sat on the edge of the mattress and wrapped his hand around Derek’s where the wolf clutched the sheets.

 _It’s not your fault, Derek_ , he wanted to say. _It’s not your fault._ But he waited him out. Derek didn’t necessarily need his self-loathing and blame to be contested in this moment, but he did need to talk. Derek always talked to Stiles—always—sometimes it just took a little bit longer than others.

“I miss them,” Derek murmured, and his eyes glowed crimson even as they became glassy. “I have this ache, Stiles, and I don’t—I can’t—my _pack_ …”

Derek called Stiles pack once, way back when they were still kids trying to figure themselves out. Stiles had been in love with Derek, then—he still was, if he was honest with himself—and somewhere after a night together, between one lazy kiss and the next, Derek had said it. Stiles was pack.

Time kept them vaguely in each other’s orbit. Their parents had been friends, so they’d see each other around the holidays, sometimes run into one another when Stiles was working an investigation and Derek happened to be in town on business. They’d meet for drinks, sometimes fuck—infidelity justified because their bond was more important than whatever feeble relationships they forged with others. Stiles sometimes wondered what it was, exactly, that always brought Derek back to him, even if just for a night or two, but then he’d remember—pack.

He only understood it somewhat, limited as he was by his humanity, but he knew it was huge. He knew pack was important. More than family. More than friends. More than love. Some unification between the self and the whole, some interconnectedness humans just couldn’t master. But was it mercurial? Could packs drift apart? Could a wolf move from one pack to another through means other than mating or necessity—say, from something like _drifting apart over the years because of life_ , the way he and Derek had? It was too nebulous for him to determine on his own.

“What can I do?” Stiles asked. To see Derek distraught was one thing—the human side of grief Stiles could empathize with and bear witness to—but to see Derek’s _wolf_ distraught was another thing entirely. He’d only ever seen Talia, or Cora and Laura, calm that side of Derek, and only when they were young. “Derek, how can I help you?”

“It’s not your job,” Derek whispered. He pulled his hand from Stiles’ grasp and shredded the sheets between frustrated claws. “I didn’t hire you to—”

“Am I pack?” Stiles blurted. The question gnawed at him every time Derek mentioned it. Pack. His wolf needed its pack. His pack was gone. Dead. And in the aftermath, he’d sought out Stiles. It had been a year or so since they’d seen each other, a little less since they’d spoken. They weren’t close the way they were in their youth, yet Derek had still called upon him.

Derek fell silent, the rawness of loss leaving him open and vulnerable, and this formidable werewolf, this suddenly and unexpectedly _alpha_ werewolf was the timid pup Stiles met in childhood. He chewed his lip and unthreaded the shreds of sheets from his hands in distraction. He froze when Stiles leaned closer so they sat hip to hip.

“You told me I was pack once,” Stiles said, soft and easy despite his rabbitting heart. He was sure Derek could hear it, could smell the nervousness pouring from him. It didn’t deter him. He had nothing to hide from Derek, and if anything, he wanted to be as transparent as possible. “Do you remember? It was the summer before you left for college.”

“I remember,” Derek answered, no louder than Stiles. “We’d gone camping in the preserve with the big tent, and there was a sudden cold front. It was only a few degrees colder at night, but you were so miserable. You hadn’t packed for it and complained every night.”

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted readily. “How was I supposed to know, man? It was the beginning of August, and we were sweating buckets during the day.”

“I tried to keep you warm,” Derek said.

“You did,” Stiles agreed.

“I tried to keep you warm, and I tried to keep you,” Derek murmured. “I didn’t want to leave.”

Stiles smirked. “For college?”

“ _You_ ,” Derek clarified. “I didn’t want to leave _you_. I—” He stopped himself abruptly enough for his teeth to click, but when Stiles’ cupped his face, he leaned into the touch with a soft whine.

“We can sort it out, okay?” Stiles offered, stroking his cheek. “Whatever happened back then, and whatever’s going to happen later. We’ll sort it out. But right now, your wolf needs pack. Am I pack, Derek? Is that something I can do?”

Derek nodded and hauled Stiles into the bed, rolling them over until Stiles was flat on his back and Derek could curl against him. With a hand across his waist, and a leg hooked between his, Derek desperately pressed his face against Stiles’ neck and _breathed_. “I wanted—” he started. “Stiles, I needed—I’m so sorry.”

“I’d have come even if you didn’t hire me, Derek,” Stiles said. He grasped Derek’s forearm, wrapped in bandages to protect his still-healing burns, gently, and dragged the fingers of his free hand through Derek’s dark hair. “The moment I caught wind of what happened, I tried to get out of work. You asked for me to protect you before my vacation time was approved, but I pulled some strings and took leave instead.”

“I don’t trust anyone else,” Derek confessed, lips warm against Stiles’ throat.

“I know,” Stiles said.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I won’t,” Stiles promised, pressing a kiss against Derek’s hair. “I won’t leave you.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on tumblr: [foxtricks](http://foxtricks.tumblr.com/)


End file.
